


That Swanson Boy

by martiansonmars



Category: Family Guy
Genre: Alcoholism, Crushes, F/M, Friends to Lovers, High functioning depression, PTSD, Redemption, Semi-Canon Divergent, Underage Drinking, Verbal Abuse, home from college
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 16:26:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11559006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martiansonmars/pseuds/martiansonmars
Summary: Meg Griffin comes home for Thanksgiving Break with the intent to have as much fun as she can before going back to finals--AKA HELL WEEK. Not much has changed, meaning her family is still a hot-mess and the same people who bullied her in high school are there and sad. When she reconnects from an old crush from her past Meg realizes that home is what you make it, and not everything is as it seems.





	That Swanson Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Family Guy is owned by the Fox Broadcasting Company. I am in no way affiliated.
> 
> \--  
> I just wanted to write a story where Meg Griffin was happy and the Griffins weren't complete monsters. A little happiness for Kevin is pretty cool, too.

As 31 Spooner Street came into view, Meg found herself hesitating. There was still enough time for her to pull into someone’s drive way, turn around, and drive away. By now campus was practically a ghost town with only a few stragglers left, mostly freshmen, here and there, but really that was no different from how it usually felt to Meg. She had made a few friends from classes and the dorms, but her friends who really mattered were right here in Quahog: Patty, Esther, and Ruth. In fact, she was supposed to meet Patty at a trendy new club after dinner with her parents… So, really, her choice had already been made.

Meg pulled in front of the pale yellow two-story house and took out her keys before she could chicken out and change her mind. Besides meeting up with Patty, she had two garbage bags full of dirty clothes in the backseat and an empty stomach that was growling worse than when she had too much to drink paired with nothing to eat. She would make the best of the four-day weekend back home—at the very least, she would make it through dinner! She already had eighteen years worth of efforts under her belt.

The walkway was littered with various toys: a handful of Hot Wheels, a rusty red tricycle, a very realistic looking plastic gun. Occasionally her mother shared pictures of Stewie’s growth on Facebook, but they usually got buried under the mountain of memes Chris shared or the political discourse posted by everyone else (see: Brian). Meg didn’t like to go on Facebook anyway, because with less than a hundred friends there really wasn’t a point (no one accepted her Candy Crush requests anymore). Sighing fondly, she kneeled to scoop up Stewie’s toy gun with the orange nozzle—and dropped it just as a red laser shot out, burning a hole in her secondhand “faux-trendy” peacoat.

She dropped the bags of dirty laundry as her hand sprung to her shoulder, where the sleeve of her coat had been singed. “What. The. Hell.” She gasped. Before she could stop herself, she swung her leg back and kicked the still-smoking gun. It skidded across the asphalt and knocked against the stoop and went off again, this time zapping the two garbage bags and exploding them. She stood, mouth open like a frog waiting for a fly, watching as her white undies and socks rained down on the front yard.  

 _The first snow of the season…_ she thought. She pulled a holey sweatshirt off her head and looked around; there was hardly any grass visible poking out underneath her clothes. As she scooped up the soiled garments, she saw something out of the corner of her eye. While the front porch light on the Swanson’s house was on and Joe’s truck was not in the driveway, something had still definitely moved behind one of the upstairs curtains. _Someone_ , she thought, her heart skipping a beat. Just as she was about to take a step forward, 31’s front door swung open.

“There you are, sweetie!” Lois crowed, pulling her daughter in. She didn’t bother asking about the piles of laundry spread out on her lawn, or the sizzling hole on her daughter’s coat. Like always, she didn’t really care. Meg could go out and pick everything up after dinner, under the cold, frost-blue sky.

She shoved Meg down on the couch and took her bag, handing it off to Chris as he came down the stairs. “Look, your sister’s home!” she told him, pointing him in the direction of the laundry room. “Can you take care of her things?” Chris nodded his head with a grunt, slipping the strap over his shoulder with a “Hi, Meg!” before disappearing into the kitchen.

“Did you get here all right?” Lois asked, half-balancing herself on the couch arm. “Peter says the roads are starting to get icy.”

Meg, briefly surprised at her mother’s concern, started, “Yeah, it was a little— “

“Oh, it’s so good to have you home, Meg!” Lois said, patting her on the shoulder before getting up and going to finish dinner. With the door flapping open and close, Meg could see that the dinner table was already set—microwavable cheese pizza cut and ready—and Lois perching on the counter with a glass of wine. Tonight, the family would eat quickly before Lois banished them from the kitchen so that she could begin her Thanksgiving preparations.

 Meg sighed and shook her head. Even though she understood the circumstances, a selfish part of her wished that her coming home was worth a little spoiling and celebration all its own. Peeling off her ruined coat, she debated hanging it on the coat rack before giving up and draped it on the back of the easy-chair. If everything went as planned, she would be in-and-out, anyway. Casting a glance at the kitchen door and discerning that no one was watching her, Meg slowly crept upstairs to her room.

The bed was still unmade from the last time she had come home for the weekend. It had been a mistake coming home so shortly after the semester had started, but at the time Meg had yet to make any friends on campus, and she was lonely. Chris had occasionally been around to play board games or watch TV, but now he stayed in his room even more than he had before. Brian and Stewie were always just out the door when she saw them, and of course her mother had chosen that weekend to drag Peter off to some couples retreat right outside of Cape Cod.

While Meg enjoyed not having to worry about ribbing from her family, it did little to quell the want for company. Even her friends could hardly make any time to see her, Esther and Ruth being swamped with school projects and Patty interning at the Quahog hospital. Subsequently, there was barely any reason for Meg to get up from the couch the entire weekend, and there was practically an indent on the seat when she finally did. Yet, somehow, after a weekend of barely doing anything, she still managed to sleep in well past morning on Sunday, rushing out without making her bed just to get stuck in traffic anyway.

She sat down at the foot of her bed and touched her soft, faded yellow quilt. Would it really have been asking so much for her mother to make it for her? At her own pace, of course, maybe one day when her first child’s absence was particularly difficult. Hah. Meg considered making the bed herself before flopping back on the mattress and staring at the ceiling. Even with dinner ready, she knew they wouldn’t start without her father. She wondered if he was at the Drunken Clam then, knocking back another frothy mug of beer with Cleveland and Quagmire and completely forgetting that she was coming home.

“Shut up, Meg— “She hadn’t even been home for an hour and she was already complaining. How was she supposed to make it through the entire weekend with that kind of attitude?

Her hands itched. Rolling over on her side, she pulled open the drawer on her nightstand and fished around until her hands found purchase—bingo. A pack of cigarettes. She had hidden it there a couple months ago, and now she practically started to salivate at the sight. She liked smoking because it gave her something to do with her hands, and—an annoying voice in the back of her head piped up—it made her look kind of cool. Just one delicious cigarette before dinner would satisfy her until she could go out with Patty and drink herself silly.

She sat on a foot stool by her bedroom window, thumping the pack against her hand. Balancing the cigarette between her lips, she patted down her pockets for her lighter and sparked up. Finally, she could relax—Oh yeah, nothing like _stale cigarettes_. Her shoulders buckled as she started to cough, burying her face against the curve of her elbow. The cigarette dangled between two fingers, and despite its horrible taste, she didn’t have the heart to flick it into the front yard. Instead, waving away the tears forming at the corners of her eyes, she rested her chin on her folded arms and stared out the window, tapping the ashes on the windowpane.

Once again, she found her eyes drifting over to the Swanson house. There weren’t any lights on save for the porch, but that didn’t mean anything. Some people were repelled by light, and since he had come back to Quahog a couple years ago, he was no different. _Kevin Swanson_ , she thought, digging her nails into the meaty heel of her palm.

Still as handsome now as he had been when his family first moved next door. But meaner, a lot meaner, ever since he returned from Afghanistan. She remembered the way he admonished her when she clung to his side a couple years ago, standing up for him when everyone else had turned into a pack of hungry, disapproving wolves. “Nice try, skank,” he’d said, brushing her off just like everyone else did.

 

* * *

 

_The mirror was cold against her back; her skin was burning hot underneath his mouth. His hands were plastered to the glass, framing her head. When she drew back from him he came after her, attacking her lips with bites and licks. He didn’t like it when she touched him, turning stiff as a board when she tried to wrap her arms around his neck._

_"Don’t,” he whispered, guiding her hands to lie limply at her sides. Then he gripped the supple fat of her thighs roughly, leaving half crescent bite marks on her white skin. His mouth returned to the slope of her neck, burying his nose where he could feel her heart beat and biting down hard._

_Kevin!” she gasped, eyes popping wide like silver dollars._

_"Don’t,” he sighed across her neck. “Don’t, don’t, don’t.”_

_Outside, someone pounded at the door. “C’mon asshole, I gotta take a leak!”_

_He kicked the door angrily. “Fuck off!” he growled. “I’m tryin’ ta take a piss.”_

_She couldn’t breathe with his large hand covering her mouth. With every gasp, he squeezed down on her lips, making her squirm even more._

_"Kevvvnn,” she groaned, her voice in her throat. “Kevvnnnn kevvnnn I cnnt breeeeeev!”_

_"Shut up! Shut up!” He grunted, squeezing harder. His ear was still at the door, waiting to hear if the man on the other side had given up and left them alone. Suddenly, the smell of beer was overwhelming to her—Kevin absolutely stank with it_

_"Kevvnnnn!!” she shrieked, grabbing him with both hands and digging her nails into his arm. She pulled at him with all her might, sucking up air greedily as his hand flew away._

_She had his attention now. His eyes were black as he swiveled his head, cutting through her with a knife-thin smile. “You bitch!” he barked. And he kept laughing, shoulders rumbling and sinking, all the while pulling his hand back and swinging—but he never hit her. His fist slammed against the mirror, just inches from her head. “You stupid bitch.”_

_The force was hard enough to make her head clang against the glass, forcing a pitiful cry from her lips. She stayed like that, cornered on the sink, pathetic and whimpering, as he left the restroom, door hanging behind him._

* * *

 

“Dinner!” Lois cried, kicking open the door. Meg grunted as she spun around on the stool, flicking the ashy cigarette butt out the window.

“’kay,” she said, but the doorway was empty.

Everyone was already sitting at the dinner table by the time she came downstairs. She could hear her parents bickering because Peter was late and the pizza needed to be re-microwaved because it was cold. She thought she heard Stewie say something, too, about Lois’ lack of “cue-lin-ary arts”, but that couldn’t be right. With a sigh Meg pushed open the kitchen door and walked in. No one really paid her any attention. She sat down in her seat next to Chris, who was already on his third slice of pizza.

“Chris, not so fast! You’re going to get sick!” Lois scolded, shaking her head. Her plate was empty, contrasting her wine glass which was filled nearly to the top.

The microwave dinged, and Meg turned her head to watch Peter take out his slice of pizza. “Hey Dad— “she said, stopping mid-sentence when he shushed her.

“Silly Meg,” he said, plopping down at the head of the table. “Why speak-y when you can eat-y?”

Her shoulders slumped. She tried to laugh it off. “Oh, yeah. I forgot,” she mumbled. At least they had left some leftover for her.

Across the table Brian was looking at her thoughtfully. “Hey, Meg,” he said, just as she bit into her slice. “How has your semester been?”

She tipped her head to the side. Somehow, she thought, this is a trick. But she walked right into it anyway. She swallowed and wiped her mouth. “Oh, uh, it’s pretty good. I really like my calculus course, I have the highest marks in the class. My professor said she was going to recommend me to the tutoring cent— “

“That’s great Meg,” Brian cut her off. “Just terrific.” Then he turned back to his plate, which was empty, and stared at it until Meg sighed and dropped her head.

And that was the entirety of dinner. Every time Meg tried to get in a word, share an anecdote from school, or discuss final projects, she was swiftly rebuffed by everyone. Even Chris, who would humor her when they were alone, belched in her face when she started to talk about taking chemistry in the spring.

“Fine,” she mumbled to herself, standing up and pushing in her chair. She balled up her paper plate and tossed it the trash before stomping upstairs.

Peter’s “Geez, what’s her problem?” echoed up the stairs behind her.

 

* * *

 

Meg: cant wait 2 see u! when do u get off work?

Patty: hiii!!! so excited!

Patty: we r kinda busy, will b late.

Patty: can u meet me @ the club?

* * *

 

Meg’s knit her brows together before easing up and sighing. Of course Patty would be running late. She could only imagine all the idiots pre-gaming for Thanksgiving in various states of bodily distress.

* * *

 

Meg: np! what time???

Patty: 10ish?

Meg: see u then! Xx

Patty: xoxox

* * *

     

“Ow!” Meg hissed, gripping the vanity so she wouldn’t touch her eye. _Mascara is the devil!_ She blinked back tears at her reflection, groaning when her vision cleared. All that pain, and no pay-off. Her eyelashes looked _spidery_! She blotted her eyes with a tissue, stopping smearing black lines in their tracks.

That’s what she got for trying so hard. On the days that she bothered wearing makeup on campus, she usually just went for BB cream, light eyeliner, and lip gloss. Her green colored eyelids and rouged cheeks made her look like something out of a _Frankenstein_ movie. It didn’t even match with what she was wearing, a gray cowl neck sweater dress, black leggings, and black ankle boots.

After fussing with her make up a bit longer, she ended up taking off most of it. Scrolling through YouTube, she picked out a make-up tutorial that even she could follow along with. The title boasted a “Natural Look”, but there were still five more steps than Meg was used to. By the end of it, even though her eyeliner looked a little smudgy, she decided that she had done all she could. She finished by spreading a thin layer of lip gloss on her lips and puckering.

“This is as good as it’s going to get,” she said to her reflection. She stood up and smoothed her skirt, reaching for her handbag that was hanging on the chair. She tottered a bit on her three-inch heels, but by time she reached the end of the staircase she at least wasn’t _clomping_ anymore. Everyone else was in their rooms, or at least no one was in the family room. She took her smoked peacoat from the back of the easy chair and put it on.

As she headed for the door, she stopped and noticed a laundry basket full of dirty laundry. Peering out front window, she confirmed (surprisingly) that it was her own! She twisted her head around looking for who could have done it, stopping as the kitchen door.

The TV on the counter was turned to the Food Network, where a plump-faced woman with silvery hair was describing how to make the best stuffing. Lois followed along obediently, chopping up carrots and celery and pouring them into a big red bowl. She stopped as Meg walked in, placing down her cutting knife and wiping her hands on her apron.

“You’re going out?” she asked Meg.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Meg mumbled.

 Lois nodded her head, reaching for her wine glass and taking a sip. “Next time, I can show you how to do a smoky eye, if you’d like.” She sounded like she actually meant it.

“Cool,” Meg said. “Um, bye?”

“Be safe, sweetie. Call if anything happens, alright?” Again, she sounded legitimate, if a little strained. Meg thought about how packed the refrigerator was, and how exactly her mom found the time to do everything that had to be done.

Saying good-bye again, Meg slipped out of the kitchen and let the door close behind her. She hadn’t confirmed who had brought in her clothes, but she had a hunch. She would bring up the basket later, probably in the morning. Now, as she looked down at her watch, she saw that she was the one at risk of being late.

The cold ground crunched underneath her boots as she walked over to her car. Overhead the sky looked like blue velvet, speckled with white-paper stars. Music funneled through her speakers as she turned on the car, lyrics sugary sweet and fun. She took a deep breath and promised herself that she would have fun—and then she pulled away from the curb and drove. Along the way she thought she heard her phone chirping, but she just turned up the radio and sang along.

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write a Meg/Kevin fic for a while. I usually don't stay attached to my fanfic, but if there's enough interest I'd like to give this story an ending. Thanks for reading!


End file.
